


Grief

by EthanTheAnnus



Series: I think therefore I am [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alexis | Quackity Deserves Better, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Immortals, Immortals AU, Tension, dsmp immortals au, hes rlly getting hit with so much shit in this au huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthanTheAnnus/pseuds/EthanTheAnnus
Summary: “You’d be best to speak more carefully,” he says softly, tone full of threat. “I’ve done nothing to disrespect you.”“It’s not me you disrespected when you put me into power,” Quackity says. “You know I was the one to find him, and you spat on his grave with your choice.”-OR-Quackity struggles to grieve and run a nation at the same time.Part of my DSMP Immortals AU! Not recommended as standalone.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: I think therefore I am [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105787
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo yo! more of my au coming in hot! this one's quackity centric; next one should flick over to either techno or sapnap!

Quackity wouldn’t choose to be President. Not like this. 

Responsibility has fallen to him by default. He’s had no time to process his emotions, to grieve. He’s been thrust headfirst into a role he’s nowhere near prepared for, expected to step into the place his closest friend had filled just a day earlier. When his closest friend had been  _ alive. _

After he’d stumbled across the body, a numbness had settled into every part of him, seating itself deep into his very soul. It had let Quackity take up his duties, but it also left him with no drive, no passion. Just an all-consuming numbness of his emotions, capturing him in a vice-like grip from the moment he realised he wasn’t being given time to process anything before being thrown into Presidency.

He’s had no time for grief, no time to wrap his head around the thought that Schlatt is gone. Dead. That he won’t get up to hear Schlatt’s complaints about him sleeping in when he didn’t, or have to guide him into his room when he’s too drunk to stand. That there’s no more inside jokes, no more meeting eyes across a room and stifling laughter.

That he’s alone.

There’s nothing but hollowness in his gaze as he stares at Dream. Coffee turns cold on the table, but Quackity doesn’t notice.

“We’ve already made enough progress to move some people back into their sectors,” Dream says, talking animatedly, eyes shining. He speaks with a passion that Quackity can hardly remember ever mustering himself, and can barely imagine ever managing again.

“Good.” Quackity’s voice is as hollow as his gaze. “Is there much left to repair?”

“Most of it is still damaged.” Dream pauses, then seems to look closer at him. “Are you managing well enough?”

Quackity lets out a dry laugh. “Depends on your definition.”

“You should take a break,” Dream suggests. Quackity can’t stop himself from devolving into humourless laughter, and it takes him about a minute to collect himself again.

“You think anyone will let me step back for even a second?” He reaches for his cold coffee, sips it and ignores the way it’s bitter on his tongue, ignores how icily biting it is. “I was pushed into this position with almost no notice. They didn’t give me time then, and they won’t give me it now.”

Dream takes the cup of coffee from his hands and sets it down before leaning in close. “Quackity,  _ I  _ was the one who ensured you took over. If you need time, I can give it to you.”

Quackity stares at him for a long moment before exhaling, lifting his hands and shoving Dream away. “If you did this, then the last thing I want is your charity.”

“You’re more capable than anyone,” Dream says calmly. “Especially Schlatt.”

Quackity snaps. “You might not have agreed with what he did, but you don’t have any right to say that. He was my best friend. He was beside me when no one else was. All you’ve done is pushed me into a job I never wanted.”

Dream doesn’t show any sign of caring for Quackity’s words. “If you don’t want the job, then let someone else take it.”

Quackity mulls over the sentence for a moment. “Another election?”

Dream shrugs. “It’s not up to me.”

“Another election,” Quackity decides. “But this time, no pooling votes. Each party runs alone.”

Dream smiles lightly. “A good decision.”

“Unlike yours,” Quackity is quick to spit back. Dream’s smile drops, and his eyes narrow.

“You’d be best to speak more carefully,” he says softly, tone full of threat. “I’ve done nothing to disrespect you.”

“It’s not me you disrespected when you put me into power,” Quackity says. “You know I was the one to find him, and you spat on his grave with your choice.”

Dream leans back a little. “You’re grieving.”

“No shit,” Quackity hisses, and reaches for his cold coffee again. “If you forgot, my best friend just  _ died. _ ”

“He was a loss to you.”

“And he wasn’t to you?” Quackity sips his coffee like a man who’s dying of thirst. “Just a liability, huh?”

“Anything I say will just upset you.” Dream turns, grabbing his coat, and pauses in the doorway. “But at the end of it all, I’d much rather see you in charge than him. Even if he had to die for it to happen.”

Then Dream’s gone, the door shut behind him, and Quackity’s left with his hands clasped protectively around the cold mug of coffee, a sourness curling over the air that nothing will shake. 

*********

It’s six days after the repairs are finished and eleven since Schlatt’s death when Quackity finally gets a sense of respite. The election runs smoothly, and he’s voted out, fair and square. In his place is Tubbo, with Tommy as his vice. The disgruntled look on Dream’s face is more than enough for Quackity, who smiles for the first time in nearly a fortnight. 

He’s more than certain the two are capable. Tubbo’s kind and selfless, and for all of Tommy’s hot-headedness and outbursts, he’s smarter than most anyone in the nation. They balance each other out well.

“Congratulations,” Quackity says as he passes them, and Tubbo gives him a smile bright enough to blind even the sun.

“We’ll do our best!” he chirps, and Quackity feels his grief-wracked heart soften a little.

“That’s all I can ask.”

He then heads for his home. With the weight of being President off his shoulders, Quackity feels less confined. Less like he’s about to crumble under the pressure, and more like himself. His heart still hurts, though, for many different things. Most of all, he knows it’s going to be a long time before he can hear Schlatt’s name without feeling overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotion.

There’s one thing he’s left to wonder, though. After everything Dream said, it’s been gnawing at the back of his mind. And it’s far too possible for Quackity’s liking.

Dream could have played a hand in Schlatt’s death. Staged it to look like an accident. It seemed to benefit him, Quackity being in charge instead of Schlatt, for whatever reason. Which made it entirely feasible.

But he could worry about that later. Right now, he’s going home. He might have himself a drink or two before passing out for the night, and pray tomorrow is kinder to him. 

His only other prayer is that he hasn’t painted a target on his back with this election; that Dream isn’t plotting as they speak to quietly slip into his house and slit his throat while he sleeps, simply for surrendering a position he never wanted. Because although Quackity hurts with every breath, he doesn’t want to die. It’s not his time. Not yet.

He’s got a hell of a lot more to do before his death, and that starts with some kind of proper ceremony for Schlatt; they can’t retrieve his body, but they can put up a tombstone. Something to honour him.

Schlatt would like that, Quackity thinks. Something to make sure people remember him, even now that he’s gone. As he steps into his house, Quackity resolves to get onto that tomorrow. For tonight, he’ll simply let himself forget his feelings; tomorrow, he’ll dwell in the deepest parts of them as he gives honour to the closest friend he had.


End file.
